


Millennium

by scullywolf



Series: TXF: Scenes in Between [144]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, MSR, Missing Scene, Mulder's stupid brain disease thing, Pre-Episode, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:31:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8069914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullywolf/pseuds/scullywolf
Summary: Mulder gets something unexpected and awful for Christmas.





	

(pre-episode)

She made plans months ago to spend Christmas with her mom at Bill & Tara’s. Of course, at the time, she didn’t anticipate having any compelling reason to stay in town, but as she kisses Mulder goodbye on the night before her flight, she is undeniably tempted to cancel. The idea of quietly celebrating the holiday with him is vastly more appealing than the prospect of putting up a happy front for her family while trying to ignore all of the inevitable reminders of Emily.

“I don’t know why I agreed to go,” she says with a sigh, her forehead pressed against his. “What was I thinking?”

He pulls her all the way in for a hug, tucking the top of her head under his chin in the way that makes her feel protected and secure. She nestles in even closer and sighs again.

“If I had to guess--” His words reverberate through his chest against her ear. “--I’d say you were thinking about how much Christmas and family mean to your mom.” She pulls back to look up at him, and he quirks his lips in a half-smile. “I’m pretty sure your brother’s charming disposition wasn’t the primary motivating factor.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “Be nice.”

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips as his thumbs stroke her shoulders. She actively tries to capture the moment, to find a way to preserve the warmth in her that his touch induces, so she’ll have it to call on while they’re apart. The moment is, sadly, over far too soon, and then he’s stepping backward and shooing her out the door.

“Go enjoy San Diego. Play with Matthew, hug your mom. I’ll see you in a week.”

***

The pain wakes him up from a sound sleep at 2am on Christmas morning.

_Oh no. No, not this again._

Instinct overrides conscious thought, and the next thing he knows, he’s got the phone in his hand and a dispatcher’s voice in his ear.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“A-ambulance,” he manages to croak before the blackness swallows him.

***

_Undifferentiated neurodegenerative disorder._

Best he can tell, it’s medical speak for “your brain’s dying, but we can’t pinpoint why.” Despite his initial fears, it does _not_ seem to be the same thing that was wrong with him before; he doesn’t hear any ringing or voices, and the pain went away almost as soon as they gave him something for it. He won’t be spending Christmas in a padded room, after all. That’s the good news.

The bad news, of course, is that no one knows exactly what’s wrong with him, how to fix it, or how fast it might progress.

They release him from the hospital by eight in the morning, with painkillers for the headaches and an appointment to return for more follow-up testing next week. He takes a cab ride home, wondering the whole time how in the hell he’s going to tell Scully. No way can he drop this bomb on her on Christmas morning, not while she’s three thousand miles away and supposed to be enjoying time with her family. She’d insist on flying back immediately, which is ridiculous because there’s nothing she could do about it anyway. 

No, he’ll wait until after the follow-up next week. Once he has some more information, he can figure out how to break the news to her.

***

Her cell phone rings late on Christmas night. She happens to be up reading, well after everyone else has gone to bed, and a smile spreads across her face at the sight of his name on the caller ID.

“Hey. What are you still doing up? It’s almost three in the morning there.”

“Couldn’t sleep. Mishyou.”

His words are slurred, though she can’t tell whether from fatigue or alcohol. 

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh.”

She sets her book aside, cradling the phone against her shoulder. “You okay, Mulder?”

“Yep. To’lly fine. Yep.”

She opts not to call him out on his obvious lie. It’s sweet that he misses her. 

“I miss you, too,” she says instead.

***

(post-episode)

_~~Scully,~~   Dana,_

_I’ve been sitting here for close to an hour now, just trying to find the words. Trying to figure out how to tell you what I learned today._

_And then I remembered. You wrote to me in a journal, once. Maybe it’s fitting that I do the same, now. At the very least, maybe it will help me make sense of things enough in my head that I can tell you out loud. Once I can find the words, then I just have to find the courage to say them._

_Unfortunately, that might be the hardest part._

_Maybe it’s because I’m not ready to believe it yet, myself. More likely it’s because I can’t bring myself to do anything that might dampen the beautiful light in your eyes. You’ve been through more than enough pain for one lifetime; how could I possibly justify causing you more?_

_Jesus, you’re not even here and I’m still stalling._

_Okay. Here it is in black and white: There’s something wrong with my brain. I’m sick._

_The doctors don’t know what it is, but as of today, they know some of the things it’s not. It’s not cancer or an aneurysm. It’s not whatever happened before with the artifact. It’s not multiple sclerosis or Lou Gehrig’s or Alzheimer’s. I should be relieved, but… better the devil you know, right?_

_So, they don’t know what’s wrong with me. They’re going to do some more tests soon. And I know I should tell you. Hell, if it were you, I’d want to know. When you were sick, before, I hated being in the dark. So I get it, and I’ll tell you. I will. It’s just…_

_You were so happy this morning. It’s a brand new year, and we wrapped up that case last night (zombies, Scully, we fought actual zombies and won, I just want you to remember that), and then it was so late by the time we got back to my apartment that you actually stayed over. You woke up in my bed this morning, which is undeniably the best way I’ve ever started a new year, and I got to make you breakfast (not bad for a guy with one fully functional arm) and take you back to bed again after. It was too perfect to ruin, to tell you that I had an appointment to get my brain checked out this afternoon. And then after, once I had my laundry list of non-answers… I still don’t know how to break it to you._

_I’m a coward, Dana. You’ll be here soon, and I had every intention of telling you tonight, and writing this out was supposed to help, but all it’s done is remind me how beautiful your smile is, how happy you’ve been these past few weeks. I can’t take that away from you. Not yet. Besides, maybe the doctors will have more answers for me after the next appointment. It can wait a little longer._

_I’ll tell you soon. I promise. Just not yet._

**Author's Note:**

> In Season 8, Chris Carter dropped the delightful little bomb of this terrible, terminal brain disease that Mulder _apparently_ kept hidden from everyone throughout the entirety of Season 7.
> 
> *side-eye*
> 
> While I find this to be extremely clunky writing, almost offensive in its obvious lack of forethought and planning, it is – alas – canon. To make matters worse, since this whole mess of a subplot happened completely off-screen, it naturally falls smack-dab under the purview of this project. Lucky me? ;)
> 
> However, I suppose it is true enough that working within constraints (however ridiculous they may be) can make for a good writing challenge. So I’m rolling with it. Consider yourselves warned. This may be the “season of secret sex,” but it is also the “season of secret illness.” All post-Hungry sexytimes will be served with a heaping side-order of Mulder!angst.
> 
> One quick disclaimer: Unlike our beloved Dana Scully, I am _not_ a medical doctor. I _have_ got a pretty solid science background and some reasonably decent Google skills, so I’m going to do my best with the oh-so-helpfully vague “brain disorder” Chris Carter saw fit to invent. Since he left it all open-ended and mysterious, I’m just going to sort of wing it as far as symptoms, progression, treatment, etc. are concerned. Which is to say, there will likely be a fair bit of hand-waving, given that Mulder shows zero outward signs of anything throughout Season 7. Blame CC for that. ;) If something is glaringly inaccurate though, and you have the expertise to set me on a path that is at least a little more realistic, feel free to drop me a comment or something. :)


End file.
